


LostMyHead

by ezpowell



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Dream Team - Fandom, GeorgeNotFound - Fandom, Sapnap - Fandom, dream - Fandom, dreamnotfound - Fandom, gream
Genre: Additional Tags to Be Added, Angst and Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arctic Monkeys - Freeform, Bottom GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Confessions, Declarations Of Love, Dream Smp, Florida, Floridian Nights, Friendship, Heartbreak, Infatuation, Internal Conflict, Late Nights, London, Love, Lust, M/M, Minecraft, Obsession, Pining, Romance, Sapnap is just kinda there, Secret Crush, Seperation, Slow Burn, Stars, Third Wheels, Top Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Unrequited, Videogames, Writing, angst and smut and fluff, dream team, ha gae, idk what else to tag aaaa, phonecalls, plane tickets, the 1975
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:54:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28594305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ezpowell/pseuds/ezpowell
Summary: As an infatuation with his closest friend begins to spiral into a vivid pit of desire and longing, Dream finds himself to begin to scribble his deepest and darkest confessions onto the creamy pages of his aged, leatherback diary, blissfully unaware of the reckoning to occur when, unbeknownst to him, somebody finds it.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF) - Relationship, Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF) - Relationship, Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF) - Relationship
Comments: 14
Kudos: 72





	1. Emeralds and Honey

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first published work on AO3 and my first DNF story so I'm not expecting too much.  
> Everything and everybody who stumbles upon this is appreciated. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!  
> \-----------------------------------------------------

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream has a daydream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!  
> This is my first story on AO3 and first fanfic. No reuploads onto other websites, it's disrespectful to the author.  
> All readers are appreciated and loved. Thank you so much! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy. <3

Gently stroking the spine of a leatherbound diary, the features on Dream’s face morphed into that of a child who just received a toy they had yearned for, for months. How the abrasive yet supple leather felt on his flesh had led him to a state of relaxation and tranquillity where all outside matters were left to be merely matters. Not important, not of use. Merely matter.

“Sir? Are you okay?"

Dragged from his silent haven, Dream faintly registered a shop assistant asking, a polite look set in his smile. If only that look reached his eyes. 

“Yes, thank you. Is this diary for sale?”

“Yes. Yes, it is.”  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Ohhhhh Dreaaam!!” 

An exasperated sigh seeped from Dreams mouth as he softly placed the diary into an old drawer. It was an incredibly meek attempt to appear unamused as his British friend’s accented voice reverberated inside his headset. Of course, George knew better than that, continuing to emulate Dream’s infamous line until the weak sigh turned into a strong wheeze. Dream chuckled fondly at his best friend’s antics. Oh, how he admired George. George’s silly imitations, George’s sharp accent, George’s solicitous words: George. 

His conscience leaving him, Dream pondered on what would occur if George attempted to mock him in person. An image of himself menacingly towering over George, then affectionately scooping him into his broad arms and launching a tickle attack until George, out of breath from laughing and screaming, weakly yet tenderly clawed at his chest melted softly into the Floridian man’s mind. It was a gentle image, such as that taste of lightly salted butter melting ever so slowly, absorbed by the warm toast it had been spread upon. Gentle and comforting.

As George continued to babble on about Sapnap’s chair collapsing earlier in a Discord call, Dream allowed himself to amble further from the path he had carefully set out for himself. Ever so slowly, the explosively bright orchard that lay patiently opposite his bedroom window trickled into his private thoughts, accompanied only by the man who sat on the other end of his TeamSpeak call.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
The cool yet colourful autumn leaves crackled comfortingly underneath Dream’s brown, moulded boots, creating a sound similar to that of a winter eve’s fire. Homely, and warm, and intimate. Like the boy.  
A gloved hand was enclosed within his own, the heat of a warm body radiating off the soft wool that Dream’s own bare fingers gently intertwined with. The leaves continued to crunch as the pair’s legs picked up pace, moving in a synchronized beat, giggling and tripping, jumping and screaming, rolling around in the plethora of leaves. Entangled so happily together.

As the pair approached the largest and grandest oak tree in the vicinity, the two stood in awe. Dream, ever tentatively, latched his arms around the boy’s waist, hoisting him up onto the thick yet frozen branches of the shedding tree, watching his features contort into pure glee as he took in the orchard that so chivalrously surrounded them. Dream quickly scrambled up next to him, desperate for more touch, more talk: more him.  
Spurts of sunset orange, lemon yellow and chocolate brown sprayed down on top of them, twirling and prancing, encircling the pair with ever-changing hues of autumn and ever-changing shapes of its leaves. It was as if fire rained down upon the two, passion itself, thirsting for true love, true obsession. The leaves were sent from the Heavens above, sent as a gift from Aphrodite herself, as her sign of the couple’s love and loyalty for each other. How else would something so unequivocally mesmerising come about? It would not.

As dawn approached, the subtle beams of sunlight that illuminated the other boy’s ghostly complexion slowly metamorphosed into beams of moonlight that highlighted his cheekbones. And jaw. And lips.  
The moonlight highlighted his lips.

His full, baby pink lips. The perfect shape to fit Dream’s. They gleamed, accompanied by his beautifully mesmerising smile, in the eyes of the moon, practically begging for contact. Begging for a sign of age-old devotion. Begging for a declaration. The perfect sphere, watching down upon the pair alongside her stars, too ached the same as Dream, wanting a demonstration of love to entertain her and her subjects. She was slowly pushing them closer, waiting for a collision, waiting for the passion to emerge as quickly as it would disappear. 

Consistently staring at the other’s lips, Dream was oh so desperate. Oh, so desperate. The blonde man wanted to ruin the purity of those lips so desperately, wanting to instead wash them over with his own sinful lips. He wanted to feel them, taste them. Become one with them. 

Blinking into the moon’s rays, Dream held a hand to his eyes. “I’ve lost my head.”, he quickly thought to himself.

But for him? For him it’s all worth it.

Temperature decreasing quickly, Dream cuddled closer to the boy, now swarmed in thick blankets. He gently took his best friend’s now-bare-hands into his own and he elegantly span him around to face him. The moon was poised directly in between them. Perfect. His best friend’s dark cropped hair appeared similar to an oak hue in the streams of moonlight and his skin was deemed flawless. But his eyes. Oh God, his eyes. They were an earth brown hue with emeralds and honey hidden within. The boy was Dream's personal fairy forest, embedded with the precious gems and overflown with divine rivers of the golden liquid. 

To be captured by the rivers was Dream’s desire. For if he were stuck, to leave the golden threads would be an impossible feat; one he would never like to achieve. 

The brown-haired boy’s pink lips were parted too, slightly in awe, slightly in confusion. Though this, the corners remained upturned. He must know. He should know. An inkling of hope within him has to know.

“George.”

“Clay.”

George’s smile had now grown to his eyes, who analysed Dream so intricately, and fluorescent vines spurted, encasing his structured face in the seraphic knowledge of what was to come next. 

“I’ve stood in acquiescence for too long in our friendship”

George’s smile transformed into a grin. It was most beautiful grin Dream had had the pleasure to witness. 

“Well… I don’t want to stay here. I want to be in your arms by the sea. Studying your freckles so curiously, focused on your eyes so delicately.” 

Squinting, Dream took in George’s complexion. The bewitching beam that radiated from his now heated face mesmerised Dream. He had never seen his love look like that. It was utterly enchanting.

The trance he had been put into almost halted Dream’s focus on the movement of George's lips. That glorious movement of his lips. Those glorious words from his lips. The glorious man sat in front of him, talking with his lips. 

“Okay. Spin with me endlessly, Dream. Or at least until the end.”

"Bet."

Rising from his place upon the thick tree branch, Dream effortlessly pulled George up with him. His arm held gracefully above his head, he smirked down at George who, more confident than Dream had ever seen him, sternly grasped his hand. And he twirled. Dream twirled George upon their oak tree until his arm could physically do no more. 

And in his guilt from not being able to turn George, Dream made his move.  
Instead, he leaned in. Their lips touched, one full, one crescent. Nothing mattered, for Dream would spin with him until the end.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
“DREAM!!!!!!!!!!”

The inhumane screech awoke Dream from his frivolous fantasy, resulting in the cord of his headset ripping from the plug. 

“Fuck George! Don’t do that! I’m sorry, I must have zoned out.” 

“Whatever.”

The two sat in a comfortable silence.

“Dream?”

“Yes, George?”

“Spin with me.”

“What? What do you mean?

George sensed the panic in Dream's voice.

"You muttered it earlier”

“Oh.” 

George began to laugh, so Dream joined in with the continual sniggering, George proud of his troll, whilst Dream, sat wheezing, was in limbo between his two conflicting feelings: one familiar, one unfamiliar. 

Both compressed. 

“Fuck George” he wheezed. “I’m screwed.” 

I’m so screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Updated chapter to make it better quality of writing.  
> I've now uploaded this on WattPad. Nobody else do so or I will discontinue. Same goes for other websites.  
> I only use Wattpad and AO3. 
> 
> New Chapter either tomorrow or within the next few days.
> 
> Comments with compliment/constructive criticism always appreciated. This is a project to further my writing and skills as an author, after all.  
> Kudos appreciated, shares too! Have a lovely day or night. <3


	2. Cabinet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream prods deeper into his feelings for George and rediscovers something important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo second chapter time
> 
> I hope you enjoy. <3

Quickly clicking the X button and rushing a goodbye, Dream slumped back into his chair and reclined, hands tangled in his already knotty hair.

How was he to stop his imagination?

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dream, sat defeated and sunken in the soft leather, had always held George in a high regard. Not in the way that he regarded Sapnap though; it was deeper, darker – more personal. More intimate. Dream loved Sapnap but not in the way, that grotesquely vivid way, that he felt for George. Only George. When Sapnap came to mind, no images of freshly picked lavender sat amidst dainty roses accompanied him, no depictions of flickering candles that illuminated small and cosy rooms accompanied him, no scenarios of freshly washed bed sheets crumpled, disregarded, in the corner of darkened spaces accompanied him. None at all.

They were savoured for George. And only George.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eyelids fluttering between consciousness and unconsciousness, the Floridian flopped onto his soft mattress, ferociously defending his mind against reminiscing upon the daydream he had had not even an hour ago. Dream was straight. He had always been straight. Romantic feelings for men had never occurred for him. An insatiable lust for a man had never occurred for him. But with George, with George it was so immensely different.

If he were able to savour everything George said to him, he would do it within a pulse. To keep every perfectly pronounced letter safe, to keep all the late-night giggles and growls primed in their perfection. To protect them, encapsulate each sound and place them all within cool and clean glass. Look upon them every day, listen to each one of them. Capture their invaluable memories and bottle them up, forever able to relive each one.

He would do it within a pulse.

Wrapped in oblivion’s sweet arms, Dream surrendered to sleep, comforted by the tenacity of his dreams of his British best friend.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Discs of light awoke Dream, swaying over his dark bedsheets in a pattern reminiscent of a waltz. Forearm pressed against his eyes, Dream kneeled to shut his blinds, resulting in him toppling from his bed. Ouch. With a heavy fall onto a fuzzy blue rug, Dream knocked into something and an old set of drawers fell next to him, narrowly missing his head. and crashed with a deafening thud.

What the fuck?

Gradually rising, limbs stiff and sore, Dream hoisted the drawers upwards and placed them back next to his wardrobe. Patches was frozen in a mixture of fear and adrenaline, not wanting to move in case the large threat moved again and made another sound. Dream, now aware of his cat’s stance, scooped her up and scratched her belly until she purred, and then gingerly placed her down on an abundance of pillows, the cat meowing in pleasure and then swiftly falling asleep.

“Spoiled.” He breathlessly laughed to himself.

After ten or so minutes, Dream picked up the last drawer that lay splayed on his cream carpet and replaced it into its allocated space, only barely noticing the lone object that lay within. The diary. The leatherback, creamy paged diary. He seldom remembered it from it’s purchase a few days ago but now, having it in his arms, it brought him a sense of peace. That same feeling in the shop. Inhaling, Dream reached for a stylus he was gifted a few months ago. The Floridian was in position. If only he knew what to write...

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Dear Diary,” he started. It was a diary, after all.

“I’m just going to be frank. I like my best friend.”

The ink glided seamlessly over the page, as if it were riding a gentle wave. Exhaling, Dream beamed. How it felt to write that down, to tell somebody: it was so soothing. To put the sensation to words would be to understate the magnitude of relief that engulfed the blonde man. The ink continued to flow from the nib of the stylus to the soft pages, left to right. All of Dream’s secret scenarios and hushed dreams recorded, all his compressed feelings and infatuations acknowledged. His adoration for George finally confessed.

Hours briskly passed Dream by. Hours spent writing and writing resulted in constant breaks for hand massages and brief eye shut. Ink-stains and dust settled around the book, coating his years-old wooden desk, prompting the ever so passionate writer to check the time.

Four o’ clock. It had been three hours since he had begun his escapade. Tens of pages, hundreds of minutes. He was satisfied. All that was left was to read his confession, accept it and hastily move on. He wanted to spare no more time on his friend who harboured no feelings back. Or at least no feelings similar to Dream’s.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jolted awake by the familiar sound of an incoming Discord ping, Dream dropped the book. Swooping down to fetch it, he placed the diary on the back, left corner of his desk, striving to answer whoever had messaged him as quickly as possible. It was now six o’ clock. Bad had pinged him. He was needed on the test server to try a new mod.

Adjusting his position in the chair, the colourful yet subtle light of the Minecraft start screen loaded up onto Dream’s computer, pixelating before his weary eyes. Glancing over at his diary, Dream smiled. He will get to hear George. He was worried he had missed his chance of the day. Luckily, he had not

Ping.

“Dream!! You’re here!”

Bad’s voice rang from his headset. Right, his headset. George’s voice became apparent as Dream slipped the moulded plastic around his ears. Grinning, he logged on to the server and immediately ran to George, killing his avatar within a matter of seconds.

“Dream!” George playfully purred, amused by his friend’s spirited mood.

“Stop it, that’s not fair.” Sapnap chimed in.

“Sorry, I know I can’t hurt little baby Gogy. He’ll get all angwy and leave.” Dream cooed, getting a laugh out of the entire call.

He loved his friends.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Time quickly passed on the server, reaching nine o’ clock in what seemed like only an hour, as the quartet battled against new hardships in the block game. George constantly died of course, his screeches of frustration filling the Discord channel with long laughter, impish taunting, and groans as they all waited for him to return.

“Dream. Why didn’t you pick up earlier when we called?” Sapnap’s voice interrupted the snug silence of the call.

“Yeah Dreamie. Why didn’t you pick up?” George’s Discord lit up green as he tried to hide his snigger, tremendously failing.

Dream’s stomach churned. Think! Fast! Or they’ll know, they’ll know what you did, what you wrote!

“Oh... um-“

The longer Dream sat stumbling over his words, the less patient the team became.

Patches meowed hesitantly, concerned for the strong knit of her owner’s eyebrows.

“Patches!” She jumped at the exclamation. “Patches’ needed feeding!”

“Oh. Okay.”

The conversation continued smoothly, Bad inquiring about Patches and then, in turn, talking about Lucy, his dog.

Half an hour passed, and George spoke, much to Dream’s immense dismay.

“Well, it’s half past two for me now. I’d best go. Talk to you all tomorrow!”

And with that, his icon left the discord call. The Floridian man’s motivation to continue the game ceased after a few minutes without hearing the British man’s laughter. George left, there is no point in staying.

“Actually guys, my Mom is coming round tomorrow. I need to clean the house. I’ll talk to you later.”

Sapnap grunted and Bad wished him luck. “Okay Dream, bye.”

Clicking the red button, the whoosh of his departure from the call registered and he flung his headset off, simultaneously blowing the layer of dust settling on his diary into the air for it to settle elsewhere. He smirked.

Reaching for his phone and jumping onto his bed, the device pinged. Sapnap had probably texted him.

No. Sapnap had not texted him.

“Goodnight Clay :)”

But George had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a fun chapter to write.
> 
> Anyway, next chapter out within next few days. Probably at weekend. Latest will be Monday.
> 
> As always, kudos, bookmarks and shares are appreciated! Have a great weekend. <3


	3. Quintessential

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A night forgotten by the next morning results in Dream having to face himself and conquer his rapidly growing feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning of sexual themes throughout!  
> Please enjoy! <3

Euphoria uncoiled throughout Dream’s elated body, the blackened swirls of imprisoned thoughts shedding, collapsing into glowing, golden threads embedded with late night notions and hidden hunches. The dark confinement of secret desires, salacious fantasies and stifled moans fell away. Dream grasped for him. And every remotely romantic contingency that came with. 

Positioning his face in front of the camera, the man unlocked his phone. The blue light emitted bounced off his sharp and defined features, exaggerating each crease and each arch. A matter of clicks, some heavy sighs and there. There was George’s message. 

“Goodnight Clay :)”

He had heard his name- it was average. But when it came from George, it harnessed new meaning. A respite from the trite circumstances that it is normal used. It was no longer Dream’s name but was a beauty to behold. Whispered by a magnificent artist who painted utter brilliance into each syllable as if it were a blank canvas. Strokes of dazzling shades splashed upon each letter exaggerated by the gentle British accent. Clay was now a painting, renaissance worthy, and beautiful to all that heard. 

But George had not said it.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Thoughts muffled by an overwhelming desire for his friend, Dream mindlessly smashed an emotionless “night” into his phone’s small keypad and swiped off the app. The two blue ticks appeared. Read immediately. It was half two for him. So why did he text him? Why? George was supposed to be asleep, not messaging good nights to his friend. His friend who had an irreversible and irrevocable fascination for him. One he knew nothing about.

God! Why did George have to be like this? He had never messaged Dream goodnight before. Why now? Had he messaged Sapnap the same? Was it merely a wish between friends, one sent to only wish a goodnight and nothing else? 

Before Dream had realised, Sapnap’s contact was up on his phone. “Has George texted you?” His nimble fingers had typed it before his cloudy brain could think anything of it. 

A reply only took only a minute. “No, not since yesterday.”

Suddenly, the coils which had entwined within Dream earlier glowed more golden. Brighter and warmer and more hopeful. It had only been him. George had texted only him.  
Fuck! George had texted only him. What did this mean? What did any of the entire situation mean? 

As his widened eyes bore into the ceiling, Dream contemplated. He concurred that it meant nothing. George meant nothing. Dream meant nothing. It all meant nothing. They were nothing.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Awakening to the mocking chorus of birdsong, Dream stretched. Leg propelling backwards, a book thudded down to the right of his bed. It was the diary. An ink splotch occupied the space on the bed sheet where the book had been moments ago. 

He checked his phone. It was three o’ clock. 

What the hell had he written?  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
It started on a light note. Rampant writings revolved around George’s smile, the way he laughs, how he exaggerates words like water. Light, passionate ramblings. 

As the pages flicked by, it grew darker. Sinister. Late night thoughts mixed with Floridian heat and unreturned feelings. Unreturned lust.

"You know, George. I’ve always wondered. Wondered what you’d look like in my sheets."

"How you’d look with your hair tousled, my hands cupping your jaw. Your legs entangled within mine. My hands feeling you. Latched onto everything I can get. Everything I can feel.  
Your breaths, ragged and unsteady. Whispering my name into the abyss of the night. Caressing my face in gentle strokes. Engulfed by my every being." 

"Our knees chafed. You by the carpet, me by the mattress. A melody of our sighs and giggles. The sweet sun on your cheeks, licked by flames fuelled by my lips. My lips all over you."

Dream felt sick.

"Sunset. Long nights. Steamy showers. Suppressed moans and muffled screams. Pillows and bed sheets. Your eyes rolled to your skull as you call for me." 

"Sunrise. Your bare back. My trained gaze. Comfortable cuddles and roaming hands. Discarded blankets and cooled ACs. My hands around your waist as you sigh contently."

Dream’s eyes continue onto the following pages. 

"But no. They stay thoughts. Forever thoughts, never reality. Because you don’t know. You don’t know how my jokes go undetected as satire in your naïve eyes, oh so naïve, when they’ve never been that. Never been satire. Always been genuine and true. You don’t know I pine for you with every, existing morsel in my exhausted body. Every inhale is for you, every exhale is for you. They are you. For you, George. I live for you; I bask in you. We are made of the same, our souls the same fibre, our being the same existence. You are quintessential George. And I am mediocre. If hell is other people, you must be my heaven: divine and untouchable. Even by me." 

"I hate you."

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
The book slammed to the ground.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
His skin was raw. Raw by the harsh scrub of a flannel.  
Dream, nauseous by his own sick words, sat crumpled against the slick panels of his shower. How could he write that?  
He was disgusting, a sycophant, a creep. How could he write that, for his best friend of all people? In the dead of night, when all was uncoiled, all was laid bare for him to see, he had written that. He had written that. Dream had written that. How he felt, he wrote how he felt. He could not lose his feelings, that much was apparent. So he wrote them down. Acknowledgement at its worst. 

“I don’t want to be your friend” he mumbled. “But I know that this is going to end.”

He stood up. The warm beads of water washed his skin free of the layers of sweat, of the dark and undutiful feelings of lust and amour from the night before.  
Dream was naked. He exposed himself and he knew it was wrong. But it felt incredulous, to be able to say it. Read it. Admit to his infatuation for George. It felt heavenly.

He snatched his towel off the rail and wrapped it around his waist, sauntering out of the bathroom into his bedroom. Snatching a pair of shorts and a tee from his floor, Dream scratched Patches underbelly and swiftly dressed himself. 

The book still lay spread on the ground.  
Dream ceased in front of it and stood thoughtfully. Bending down and picking it up, he replaced it on its dedicated spot. Back, left corner of the desk. He had an ally now. Somebody to tell all his thoughts to. It would no longer be a confession, but an update. An update between friends.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
The clock in the corner of Dream’s computer displayed 6 o’ clock. 11 o’ clock for George. He would still be awake. Not on his computer, but still awake. That was comforting to know. 

As minutes passed cold toast teetered on the edge of the wooden computer desk, untouched. The Floridian lay sunken in his chair, mind running with ideas of what George would be doing right now. Intrigued, Dream decided to text him:

“Hi”

Simple. But not stupid. Sly but striking. Smart. 

“Hi Dream” the response took a matter of minutes. A minute too long. What was he doing?

“What are you doing?” the reply garnered him weak. Boring and obvious and so not like Dream. But it would have to do. 

“Uh, I’m in bed, It’s like nearly twelve for me lol. Why are you asking?” 

Fair. 

“No reason, just curious.”

George read it. George went offline.  
Dream blew it. The conversation had come to its natural close and he had blown it. There was no more to talk about. Dream would hear George’s voice tomorrow. Tomorrow. Hours away. An infinity away. He had been barred from heaven. It would be short sabbatical. One that seemed too long.

The computer clock smoothly transitioned to a blaring 19:00. As it hit one past, a song emitted from Dream’s phone’s speakers. It was his ringtone. 

Groaning, Dream rolled over to his bed and lunged for his phone. 

George ringing

The phone slipped from his grasp and clattered to the floor. Scrambling to pick it up, Dream saw it was not a Discord call. Sapnap wasn’t there. Bad wasn’t there. It was George, phoning him at twelve o’ clock, alone and of his own choice. Shit. 

Finger hovering over the green answer button, it softly came down. 

“Hi Dream.” The voice slightly wavered but the smile could be heard all the same. 

“Hello”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, a very fun chapter to write. Helped get my emotions out.  
> Chapter four out either tomorrow or Wednesday  
> Kudos, comments and shares are always appreciated! Have a great day/evening/night <3


	4. Constellation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream receives a call far more meaningful than one he has ever had before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of speech this chapter.  
> Enjoy! <3

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Within seconds of answering, the simple audio call had escalated to a facetime.

Dream’s camera was off. George’s was not.

“That’s better” the brunette boy remarked, beaming hazily into the camera.

Hair dishevelled, lips upturned, and chin shadowed by a slight stubble: he looked flawless.

“Fuck”

“Hm? What did you say?” the words slurred together, and Dream chuckled.

“Nothing. You look dead, you need to go to sleep.”

I wish you didn’t.

“Ugh.” George playfully flicked his eyes from left to right. “Fine, but only if you call me when you wake up.”

“Okay.” Dream kicked off his chair and flopped to his bed, grinning. So George was in a clingy mood. “Go on, baby Georgie. Bedtime.”

The mocking coo was nothing short of a whisper. The phone could not pick up on the tone though. The phone could not pick up on the softly sweet threads of ruby and gold interlinked with each hot breath that escaped the Floridian’s mouth.

“Fuck off.”

Dream wheezed. The call ended. The smile dropped.

A dreamless sleep peacefully overtook him.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He awoke to a steady stream of pings emerging from his PC. It was eleven o’clock and Sapnap was messaging him.

“Bro I’m streaming get on”

“Dream, get on”

“It’s been half an hour, get your lazy ass onto Minecraft”

“Dream!!”

His response was short. “Fuck off.”

Sapnap’s ‘typing’ tab emerged from nothingness. The light from the drowsy morning sun set upon the monitor, blinding Dream from any response. Oh well. He didn’t care for the obscenities he was sure he would get back.

Ten minutes passed before he sat back down on his gaming chair, phone in hand and cereal in the other. Neither could distract him from George.

Suddenly, another ping interrupted his thoughts. But this time it grasped his attention.

“George and I are waiting for you. Hurry up or I’ll grief your base.”

George. George was there. He could talk to George.

PC booting up, he joined the discord to the rambling of voices. Arguing, of course. What else would he expect?

“Dream! Finally. It took you an eternity.” Sapnap jokingly started on him.

The silence from George was immediate. Strange. He always greeted Dream whenever he arrived in a voice channel.

Distractedly, Dream mumbled a response and the call fell to silence. Comfortable nonetheless, but something was wrong. One participant was deadly silent. Cruelly silent. Starving the Discord of his ever-glowing commentary and snide remarks and boundless laughter. George’s mic emitted thick and ghastly silence.

“Got to go. Bye Sapnap.”

All that was heard was a light pop then a softer silence. The Discord was left with two pictures, the third disappearing into a blinding mist. A mist Dream was unable to venture into.

“What have I done?”  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dream stayed on stream for another hour, feigning interest, until he claimed his Mother arrived. Spurting his byes, he quickly departed.

Sighing, the American span round on his chair. The diary lay, encircled by the hot Floridian light, abandoned. Swiping it from the table corner, Dream clutched it to his chest. Delicately placing it down, he flicked to the next clean page and picked up his stylus. The last time he had put pen to paper was after the text. But this mattered so much more.

The pen collided against the paper ferociously, pages soaring past by the hour.

Dream wrote for his anger, his misery, his guilt, his confusion, his passion, his lust, his losses, his gains, his woes: his George. Except he wasn’t his George. He wrote for his anguished heart. He wrote for the dark hatred he salvaged for the friend he could not have. He wrote for the dark hatred that stemmed from his infatuation. An infatuation that had started years prior as a meek and pathetic thing, eventually growing into a giant. One bigger than Dream himself. One that was Dream. Dream was his own infatuation- they had intertwined to become one. Just as he wished to intertwine with George to become one.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
An hour later, he was interrupted. Interrupted by the very one he was writing for.

“Dream.” The message read. “Call me.”  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The phone stopped by the second chorus of rings.

“Dream…” his tone was child-like. The complete opposite of his aloofness earlier.

George breathed in and placed his hand over his mouth, muffling his words. “Dream, why do you hate me?”

He continued before Dream could offer a rebuttal.

“You wake up when it’s late for me. You ignore my pings. You tell me to sleep when I want to talk to you. You join Sapnap’s stream when I have to leave. You’re always distracted when I talk to you. You’re barely online anymore.”

Dream slumps stationary, stunned.

“Dream, when was the last time that you and I were in a call together? Just us. Alone. Secretive, like we used to be. Not like you are now. You’ve unsynced our sleep schedules, and for what? So you can spend time away from me? What have I done to make you want that?”

“I could never hate you.”

“Then why?” his words echoed through Dream’s speakers.

Falling to his knees, he pleaded with himself. “Don’t tell him. Don’t give in”

“You’re the only person I want to talk to. You’re all I want to talk about. I could never hate you, George. You know that.”

“Liar.”

Fuck!  
How to tell George he doesn’t hate him without confessing his love. How to tell George he does not hate him without confessing his love. How?

The words escaped Dream’s mouth before he could stop them.

“Switch to facetime.”

“What?” George’s response was delayed.

“Do it. You do what I say.”

The notification appeared on Dream’s screen. He accepted.

George’s delicate face filled his screen. It looked close to cracking.

“When the light is in your eyes, you look so alive.”

“Shut up.” George’s façade began to quiver.

Dream glanced towards the diary left on his bed, wrapped in a blanket. Patches was nowhere to be seen.

He had to fulfil his hunger for George somehow.

“George. Feel your heart for me.”

“Why?”

“Do it.”

Dream watched the subtle movement of the British man’s slender, pale fingers. Moving from his pillow to his chest, they carefully settled over his heart.

“Can you feel it?”

The dimmed light in George’s house encapsulated the emeralds of his twinkling eyes. “Yes.”

Ever so slowly, Dream’s ring finger tapped a button on his phone. His camera switched on. It was angled to his collarbone.

“Dream.”

“Shhh.”

George took a sharp intake as Dream’s pink hands settled over his own heart. They mirrored each other. George’s left hand on his heart and Dream’s right.

“Now sound out your heartbeat for me.” Dream reassuringly commanded through the microphone.

“Boom. Boom, boom. Boom. Boom, boom.” George murmured back; his brows furrowed as he concentrated on the constant flutters of his heart.

“That’s how mine feels,” Dream breathed. “Our hearts beat the same pace. We are on the same time, George. You and I, we’re connected.”

Steadily, Dream took in the flutter of George’s eyelids. And his exposed collarbone. Lightly sprinkled freckles decorated the pale skin, like those of a constellation. A constellation that quickly fell into place, complimenting Dream’s own galaxy. They were the colour of space, endless yet ever-expanding, always more to be discovered, always more to explore.

“We are each other’s, George.”

“Yes. Yes, we are.”

The space between them seemed to grow smaller.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hours had passed.

“Dream, I need to go soon but I still have a question.” opined George.

The Floridian’s heartbeat sped up.

“And what is that?”

“Why won’t you let me and Sapnap to your house? Or me see your face?”

He looked inquisitively at the dark screen.

“That’s two questions,” Dream remarked airily. “Anyway, I’m waiting. We can talk about it when Sapnap’s here.”

“Oh, okay.” George’s accent was especially distinguished in the silence of the stuffy Floridian evening.

The sun had already set, and Dream’s room was basked in darkness. The only source of light effused from George’s face.

A minute ticked by.

“Well, I have to go now. Bye, Dream”

“Bye George.”

The cloudy smile left Dream’s screen within a second. He felt instantly dampened. The specks of light had left him. His dazzling constellation fell to the dark abyss.

Plodding over to his desk, Dream flopped down. He reached for the diary and mindlessly flipped to where the ink had dried hours ago. There was much to write about and much to inquire.

Once again, he began to write.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of speech and talking this chapter. Does George like Dream? Who knows lmao  
> Also, should I make chapter longer? I don't know if I should. 
> 
> Anyway, next chapter out within next two or so days  
> As always, kudos, comments and shares are heavily appreciated. (bookmarks too if you want to keep up to date)
> 
> Have a great day/evening/night wherever you are <3


	5. Nectar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream, Sapnap and George talk and decide upon a course of action. Dream's mind wanders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Chapter Five!  
> Please do enjoy <3

Dark, soggy grass covered the rich soil. The clock had ticked past five and the curved moon gleamed down in splintered streams. The moisture of the dewy blades prickled Dream’s bare feet, but it was okay. It was nice. The wet pages lay drying on the wooden table, yet he could not bring himself to wait there with them. It had all become too much; the flurry of emotions had become too much. The moon possessed serene powers that made him forget so, basking in the fragmented rays, he stood still and breathed in the crisp and cool Floridian air. In a few hours it would be humid and heavy, squirming with constant bodies and hot air tumbling out of mouths. But, for now, that did not matter. The only thing that mattered was the irregular squelch of footfall against damp grass and the absence of anxious mind.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had reached seven when Dream finally returned inside, greeted by the bland smell of scentless candles and basil leaves. The last few hours had been atrocious. Everything he felt for George connected in his conscious as he wrote and suddenly seemed all the more important. It was so intricate, so weighted, and so much more than he had ever realised. Contradiction after contradiction after revelation after another contradiction. He could feel. Only feel. The tempest of emotions refused reigns. Nothing Dream could do would anchor it. His emotions were untameable.

By the time he had read through the ink-stained pages, his mind had become weary, and frail, and overmanipulated. All that time spent on George, and none on anything else. Food and sleep were secondary. Videos and streams were desolated. All was barren. The outside seemed to be his only ally, not tainted by late night impulses or early morning aching. It had been days since the yellowing grass of the orchard had held contact with the Floridian. Relief was apparent in all corners of the garden.

The reposeful darkness began to transpose into warm hues of orange and yellow as half past six made its rounds. The crescent began to shift, and the heat started to overtake the air. Dream was almost remorseful. His cool refuge had to leave him. Peacefully solemn, he settled down on the big oak tree and watched as the sun rose from nothingness. Just like him.

At seven, he creaked the orchard’s gate open and trudged back to his house.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
“Wake up, wake up, wake up!!!”

Sapnap’s voice grated against his irritated speakers. Dream really did love his friend but fuck he could be an asshole. Sleep had finally come to the Floridian and, after the antics of last night, he really did need it.

But of course. Sapnap had other plans.

“So, what did you do last night, Sapnap rambled on, an answer not expected nor needed. “I’ve met a new girl. She’s beautiful and she’s at my college. She’s taking the same course and everything and I’m supposed to be seeing her tomorrow and God, Dream, I’m so excited. She feels different and-”

As badly as he felt, Dream paid no attention. A daze had overtaken him, and he thought only of George. No surprise. Instead of orchards or space, he thought of George somewhere sweetly simple: his house. George sat at his island, George wrapped in blankets on his sofa, George nuzzled into his neck on his chair. Domestic situations ran rampant in his head. They were endearing. As if they were actually together. Not together, Dream reminded himself. Not.

With bland grunts of approvals in the silence between words, the Floridian wondered what would happen if George and Sapnap visited. George visiting. Would he be able to control himself in that close a proximity? How he would try not to stare, try not to touch. Try not to check that he is real. Try to know that he is not a figment of an overactive imagination. And Sapnap. How much he would smile, cheek muscles pained, and how often they would hug. The activities they would get up to as a trio. The activities he and George would get up to as a duo.

“Stop it.”

There was a new laser tag arena built in the city centre. A cinema and sports centre too. They would all have so much fun. So many memories made, so many laughs shared. So much fun. The constant rows between Sapnap and George over matters like height and who sits where would be some of the best moments of his life. How could Dream survive in a situation like that though? To like George and be next to him were in completely different categories. To tame his amorous feelings would be similar to taming a lion. Both feral, both dangerous: both risky.

“Shut up.”

Though everything, nothing could overshadow his desire to meet his two companions. Whatever the trip entailed, whatever would occur. The pillow fights were worth so much more.

“Dream?” Sapnap yanked Dream from his stupor, “Why did you tell me to stop? And shut up? What the hell bro?”

Shit.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry Sapnap, I was just in my head. I’d love to hear about this mystery girl. She sounds incredible.”

“Oh, okay. It’s fine. Anyway-”

Thank God. This time Dream took Sapnap’s prattling in intently. It was actually quite interesting. A lapse from his thoughts and the humid, heavy air.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Woah Sap, she sounds amazing.”

George had joined the Teamspeak halfway through and remained engaged, allowing Dream’s mind to wander. It had resulted in his plummet, thudding against his wall and slipping down to his carpet, head on knees and hands on floor. His voice was too much to bear. So fragile yet so strong. Enunciated. The headset hung around Dream’s neck, muffled, and his eyes were squeezed tight shut. He wished George would turn his camera on.

Sapnap still bumbled. Right. Sapnap mattered more.

Slinging the headset back on, Sapnap’s voice greeted him. Still explaining the girl. Thank God. He ended his ramble a few minutes later. Silence settled over the call.

Finally, George broke it.

“So, Sapnap. Dream and I were talking about it a few days ago and I wanted to bring it up with you. Basically, I want to come to Florida,” George giggles “but Dream said that we needed to discuss it with you first. So what do you want?”

“Shit, Orlando? I’d love to go! I’ve been dying to see both of you ever since we first brought it up.”

Dream feels a light inside his chest flicker on and burn bright. He had never known its existence.

“Dream?” George timidly asked, slinking down his seat with his hands clasped outwards.

The smile is apparent in Dream’s voice the second he speaks “Yes. Of course! I’m desperate too. Of fucking course!”

“LET’S GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” Sapnap bellows.

“Shut up, you imbecile.” George replies, sniggering.

Dream wheezes and the other two join in. They’re seeing each other. He’ll see Sapnap. He will see George. After years, he’ll see his best friends. Happiness in human form.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So, Dream, when shall we do it?”

Shit, what? Dream had zoned out.

“Uh… George, what??”

His bemused tone confuses the other two.

“You know… fly to Orlando?”

Oh. Right.

“Oh, sorry. I was thinking early August? So like 10 or so days? That’s the earliest tickets at least”

“Hell yeah!!” Sapnap sounded overjoyed.

“That soon?”

Panic rose up his throat. “Yeah, George is that okay?”

Please say yes, please say yes.

“Yeah, I’d love too. Are you okay with that early though?”

The panic fled and was instead replaced with an insatiable need for the ten days to go as quickly as possible. He had to see George and Sapnap.

“Yeh, I’m very organised. It’ll be fine.”

“Hm.” George huffed. “Debatable”

Dream snorted. Sapnap laughed. Everything was ready.

"I'll buy the tickets now."  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hours darted past, all spent on talking and planning and teasing. Dream had quickly purchased the early August tickets and was at ease, comforted by George’s presence and excited by Sapnaps. He was in an sate of equilibrium. Total equilibrium. 

It was late for George, much later than it was in America, and Dream heard that edge of raspy vulnerability creep into the British man’s voice. It was rare but always set fire to Dream's mind. The only thing to make it better would be to see his droopy eyes and outstretched limbs. He was surely in bed. The rustle of sheets gave him away. If only he was there with him.

“Constellation...”

The word was mumbled quietly, but not quietly enough for a microphone not to pick up. The pronunciation proved it George. Gates forced open, the memories of that exceptional night flooded through. The night where George showed his vulnerability, his fears, and Dream had comforted him. Made him feel better. Safe even.

Unaware of the movement, Dream’s hands drifted to his heart. He knew that’s where George’s were. Or were they? Hopefully they were. He meandered back into a tranquil state.

“George,” Dream mused, unmindful “You’re so perfect.”

Mid chuckle, he stopped. What did he just say?

The call remained silent.

The adoration was clear in his voice, each letter interwoven with its own strand of warm, loving ardour. Each sound a confession of its own. Spoken with an intimacy only saved for the most personal thoughts and escapes. All, of which, were not for anybody’s ears. No tangible existence of them was supposed to happen. None. Yet the subliminal mind had spoken. And it had stitched him up. How long until somebody questioned it? Questioned the God's golden nectar that had escaped his mouth. 

Still, the call remained silent. So did Dream.

Five minutes later, Sapnap spoke.

“Okay guys, I’m back but I have to go now. Bye Dream, George.”

Sapnap left.

Sapnap left! He did not hear it. He did not hear the confession. The hint of a smirk was etched upon his voice but that was Sapnap anyway. Sapnap knew nothing. And George did not respond. He had been saved. The God's took pity upon him and he had been saved. The nectar had been hidden. Thank God.

Now he had to leave this Godforsaken call.

As he hovered his cursor above the end button Dream whispered his goodbye to George, not expecting one back.

He still got one.

“Bye, Clay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooo progress!!  
> Chapter out either tomorrow or the weekend. 
> 
> Thank you for getting this far.  
> Kudos, shares and comments are always appreciated! (bookmarks too if you'd like to keep up to date)
> 
> Have a great day/evening/night! <3


	6. Rewrite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream lays low, worrying all of those around him. Sapnap, filled with anger and anxiety, frets over Dream until he gets a phone call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter!  
> Please do enjoy, new chapter tomorrow or Wednesday! <3

Light filtered into the otherwise dark room. Softly, it settled upon Dream’s face. The room had grown used to his presence day in, day out. He had not left in four days, much less spoken. Phone lay discarded and lonely on the bedside table, his thoughts had been occupied only by his name. Clay. C—l-a-y. Clay. He mused on how each syllable sounded and how each syllable was formed. The thought was then repeated, but with an image of George’s face projected onto the ceiling he stared so blankly at. How George’s mouth would form each syllable. How George’s mouth sounded when he did. 

George had unknowingly etched Dream’s name into glory. He had not scribbled it, nor sprawled it; he had carved it. Carved it so bolding and so surely into sparkling gold. That raspy edge of delirium and that soft undertone of fondness only pushed the chisel further. It had been pure ecstasy.

Dream was to see George in six days. And Sapnap, of course. But he was not the one to worry over. 

Shit, Sapnap! 

Scrambling guiltily to grab his phone, the Floridian keeled and fell out of bed, landing on a book. The book. It must have fallen from under his pillow last night. 

Flinging it onto the desk, Dream sat down and scrolled through the endless amount of messages he had received from Sapnap. It had been a gruesome battle to even keep food down, never mind reply to messages. How pissed Sapnap would be. Crap. 

George’s name complimented Sapnap’s in the Imessage bar, yet it didn’t seem important. His name faded away for the first time since the genesis of his blossoming in Dream’s ever-clouded head. 

One hundred and fifty-one missed messages from Sapnap. Sixty-three missed calls. All spread out over Dream’s four-day sabbatical.

They grew from humorous to angry within a matter of hours. Then from angry to confused. From confused to worried and worried to scared. Back to angry. Then concerned. Then stationary, continuing concern manifesting into dozens upon dozens of phone calls. The last message was received at 7pm. An hour ago. 

Five minutes later and the phone was across the room, the ghosts of texts turned to drafts leaving their ascetic lingering guilt on Dream’s mind. He hadn’t bothered reading George’s or Bad’s. Even Tommy had messaged him, worried for his inactivity on the SMP. It was sweet. Scary, but sweet.

The sun had submerged itself behind a guard of twilight clouds. The moon had taken its place. Full and round. Nothing like the crescent of the nights before. The “Clay” built itself back up from the pit of Dream’s stomach, winding up through his ribs, and entwined itself back into his brain. It had become his very being. If he were to see George in less than a week, he had to shut it up. Burn it out. Kill it. Kill this infatuation and put it to bed for nobody else to see. Nobody else could see.

Only the diary. The diary which was now back into his hands. The familiarity of the leather calmed the outcries from his brain. Dream reached for the stylus. Nothing came to mind so, instead, he just wrote his name. Over and over again. Accompanied by George every so often. The letters had become ostentatious, curved and jazzed up, but it was nice. It was pretty. Tens of pages of Clay and George together. Unable to disappear.   
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Fifth consecutive night of no sleep. Too busy writing. Too busy thinking about George. 

The stars had been glimmering in and out of focus, scattered all over the purple sky, taunting Dream. They had written it like this. For him and George to be separated by vast ocean. The dark undertone of his passion. The gooey, tar-like hatred that oozed through the cracks in his heart. The cracks that grew heavier each day. Soon he would drown. 

If no-one can rewrite the stars, why try? 

Why try to write it into existence? Each, prolonged day. Every hour filled with yearning. So wretched and so masochistic. It hurt to say and hurt to try but he had to. Otherwise he’d drown. They’d drown. George would drown. 

No-one can rewrite the stars.

Instantaneously, Dream collapsed. The exhaustion and second-guessing and anxiety had obeyed the pleads of his body and he had collapsed. Sleep had finally arrived.

Yet George still haunted him.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Sapnap lay in existentialism. He had done something. What had he done?

Dream had been offline for five days. No communication at all and no signs as to his whereabouts. The last he had heard was a simple bye after he left a call, George then asleep and Dream absolutely silent. Each day was muffled by that silence. Him and Bad were terrified but George? George was… mortified. He hadn’t slept in five days. The only time he talked was to ask if anybody had heard from Dream. He never left his phone alone. It was horrifying to watch, George spiralling into a mechanic replica of his old self. It was as if he wasn’t George without Dream. Almost like they were one. 

The stress was taking its toll. 

Hair unkempt, same days old clothes and cold bowls of soup. His Texan flag lay crumpled on the floor, torn down in an effort to let out the suppressed rage. Fuck Dream. He was fine one day then abandoned the pair with no explanation the next, rendering one sick with worry and the other unable to do anything. It was sick. Dream had to be sick. He knew Sapnap. He knew George. Their best friend wouldn’t ignore them for no reason. There had to be a reason. 

Words flowing lazily through his head, Sapnap picked up his phone ready to message Dream again. He was unfocused, eyes drooped, until his hand hovered over the send button. There was a new addition to his messages.

“Read: 8:37”

What the fuck?? He had seen it!! Why hadn’t he responded??

Fingers backtracking swiftly, they marched around the keypad and typed out a message aggressive enough to induce fear yet kind enough show mercy. It showed compassion. And worry. But also wrath. Sapnap was infuriated. Dream had left him on open. But he was there. Nick had to get a response.

Half an hour passed. No response. No read. Only delivered. 

Dream read it last night. Had Sap missed his chance?

He shoved his phone down into his mattress and lay down. Arms wrapped tightly around knees, he rocked back and forth. His hair was matted, just in front of his eyes, and beads of water began to fill his eyes. 

He wouldn’t cry. Cry over Dream? Fuck no. 

The Texan was better than that. Mindlessly grabbing his phone, he faltered. Just one more look. If Dream was to read it, it would be now. It’s 4pm. Patches needs feeding at four.  
Carelessly plodding the small icon on his phone, Sapnap saw no change. The “Delivered” sat idle. Just as it had the hours prior. Stupid. 

Rising to leave, the phone began to buzz. It would surely be George, asking for Dream again.

Bending over and clutching his phone, Nick had a look. It was not a steady stream of messages as he had thought. It was larger, much larger. It was a phone call. 

His name filled up the screen. Maybe this message had not been read. His previous ones definitely had been though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short, so I'm sorry. I'm just desperate to write the three of them meeting up. Moreso, the DNF interractions and what Sapnap does in return.   
> Sorry for the lack of a weekend update too.  
> Next chapter will be either tomorrow or Wednesday. 
> 
> I have so many ideas for the meetup. So excited, as I'm sure you guys are too. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and (as always) kudos, shares and comments are forever appreciated (bookmarks too if you'd like to keep up to date).
> 
> Have a great day/evening/night!! <3


	7. Ablaze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sapnap confronts Dream after his absense. Dream decides on whether to speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Seven let's go!  
> Lots of speech this chapter.  
> Please do enjoy <3

The thick silence crawled up Dream’s throat, continually scraping everything it touched until it turned raw and painful. He could not speak. It was suffocating. 

Sapnap too remained noiseless, but the seething flames that were emitted from his breathing was clear; even to Dream, sat 1400 miles opposite. 

It continued for minutes, after minutes, after minutes. The vast silence was agonising.

A crackle snaked through Dream’s headset. The sound of gasoline dripping out of the cannister. A deep groan echoed abruptly in the headphones. The flame was struck.

Instantly, the lighter fell. It all went up in an inferno. 

“What the fuck, Dream? How could you, how could you fucking leave us. Leave me. It’s been five fucking days, where in hell have you been? Did you not know how it would feel,” Sapnap’s voice was propelled by desperation “how I would feel, not knowing where you were? If you were okay? What had happened?”

He took a sharp inhale. 

“What the fuck were you playing at? And, to think that you just resurged,” his voice began to strain “with no explanation. No messages. No confirmation. Only a fucking read receipt! Do I really mean that little to you? I could barely eat the last few days, worrying endlessly for you. My fucking friend. Are you my friend?”

His voice cracked. Tender worry bled out. 

“I don't know. You could’ve been dead. I thought it too. I thought you were fucking dead, Clay. You asshole. I thought you were dead, and I hadn’t done anything to save you.”

Dream sat in warranted silence, licking the salt from his lips. 

As quick as it went, the piercing voice returned. 

“Who even are you, dude? Never picking up, joining streams less. What the fuck is up with you? You can’t just,” his tone soared to the loudest Dream had ever heard it. “you can’t just disappear like that! Disappear and not tell us you’re okay!”

He inhaled. “It’s fucking terrifying, not knowing. You submerged me and, for a moment, I thought I wouldn’t come back up. I couldn’t breathe, Dream. I can’t breathe when you’re not here. Fuck you, fuck you.”

He exhaled, the wrath seeping out of his voice, replaced with exhaustion. “Fuck you.” 

The sound of fabric sliding down leather obstructed the headphones, substituting for the venom of moments before. Dream sat, stunned: he had destroyed his best friend. George had destroyed him, and he had destroyed Sapnap in turn. In those ink-filled hours, he had never thought of what it would do to Sapnap. How he would react. It was an afterthought. He was an afterthought. 

Everything had turned into an afterthought. 

How could he continue like this, eternity stuck in a cycle that commanded death? Destruction? Decay? For the end of his friends, eventually his family. One day, the world. His world. 

Dream was a candle, once ablaze, who’s light had begun to flicker. In limbo between enlightenment and benightment. Almost extinguished.

He was once ablaze. What had happened? 

Mind congested and voice hoarse, he could choke only one word out: “Sorry.”

Sapnap’s breath ceased. Seconds later he spoke, his voice low and grave:  
“Is that all you can muster?” 

Neck arched, Dream’s eyes bored into his carpet. 

“Sapnap…” he began,  
“No! I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear you. I don’t want to hear my name, just stop. You don’t care. That’s fine. I shouldn’t either,” Sapnap’s voice quivered “I’m leaving. I’m done.”

“Nick, please!” the timid voice barely registered on Sapnap’s headset. Dream sounded child-like. Helpless and unprotected. 

He had never sounded like that. Never. 

The Texan found it hard to speak with malice, yet he did: “What.”

It pierced Dream’s very being. The icy, calculating tone of his best friend’s normally voice pierce him. The bubbles had popped. No traces of Sapnap could be heard.

The Floridan’s voice choked as he began, no explanation emerging. 

Minutes passed.  
Tensely, Sapnap spoke: “Fine then. I’m going.” 

Dream panicked, the darkness already closing in around his small desk. The words rushed from his mouth, a delirious escapade in desperate need of love:

“Don’t leave me.”

Sapnap, taken aback, responded:

“Okay. I won’t”  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
The humid air made it difficult for Dream to speak. It jeered him as he fumbled over his words; too many to say yet never enough heard. 

Sapnap began softly, “Where have you been the past couple of days?”

His tone was gentle, pointedly contrasting the monstrosity that was earlier. 

“Nowhere. No, everywhere. My room.” 

It was a simple question. The Florida heat made his mind fuzzy, incompetent to form sentences and speak. Luckily, Sapnap understood. 

He took it slowly - “Oh, okay. Was your phone on you?”

“Yes. I shut it off though. I hate the thing, Sapnap. I hate it so much.”  
The room seemed to shrink every time he made a sound. Every time he pleaded with himself not to. 

His best friend’s tone stayed tender, “And why is that?”

Is it better to speak or to die? Neither seemed particularly pleasant. Dream’s eyelids slumped and he reclined, wiping the moisture collected from his brow.  
Subconsciously, the part of his heart that rested dormant decided for him. It yearned to be let free. So it was.

Erupting in a catastrophically magnificent collision of blaring warnings and rich, colourful expressions, the secret surfaced. His name finally spoken out loud for all to hear. 

“George. It’s because of George.”  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bemused, Sapnap stayed silent. A few seconds passed.

“So… you hate your phone… because of George? What?”

Dream rolled his eyes, grinning stupidly at his device.  
“What had he done to you? He’s been the most worried of us all, surely it’s not his fault.”

The Floridian bit the grin back. Wait, what?

“He’s been worried about me?” Dream peered anxiously back down at his phone.

“Well, obviously.”

Gusts of cool air wafted in through the small crack of Dream’s dusty window. It tickled the underneath of his chin, making him giggle slightly from the sensation. George was worried for him. George had cared. The world had tipped, and it all felt okay again. 

How could he make Dream feel like this?

“Tell me about it. Is he okay?”

“Umm… I don’t really know. Honestly? He stopped messaging me,” Dream snapped back up “and when he did, it was only to ask if I had heard from you. He wasn’t on Discord or Teamspeak but was glued to his phone. I called him to check and I didn’t think he had eaten much. It only lasted half an hour but I had made him laugh, which to me was all that mattered. It really fucked him up, Dream. He misses you. So do I.” 

Oh God. He had hurt George. Dream had hurt George when trying to do the very opposite. George needed space. He needed space from Dream.

“He needed space though.”

“No. What are you on about? He did not need space. You know George, you know that’s the last thing George ever needs.” 

Sapnap sounded confused. He was right.

George didn’t need space.

But Dream did. 

“Fuck. I have to call him.”

“Yeah, you should."

Time passed as Dream sat, his guilt bubbling up inside of him. He was sick. And twisted. And selfish. He had destroyed George, as he did Sapnap, when he thought George had destroyed him. Maybe George had. But it did not matter. 

He had hurt George to help himself. He had forced him into anxiety and sickness all for his own, masochistic pleasure. He was disgusting. 

Dream, deeply wrapped within his own thoughts, was abruptly interrupted. 

“Why does it matter?” The question came quick, blurted out in a moment of no restrain, and Sapnap hissed quietly the next second. 

“What?” The Floridian’s voice came reverberated through his headset.

“Why does it matter?” Sap’s voice was a bit stronger this time, hesitantly owning what he said.

Constellations filled Dream’s eyes.  
“Sapnap…”

Moments passed. The whirring of Sapnap’s brain stops. It clicks. 

“Oh.”

“…Yeah”

Their call seems to freeze. Time becomes nothingness. Everything stills. 

The eternity passes, and Sapnap responds: "Shit, man. That’s dope!”

Dream freezes. What the hell?

“Uh, Sapnap, you get it right?”

The beam is heard in his voice – “Yeah, of course! You like George. Of course you do. Fuck bro, I’m so happy for you!” 

Dream, ever so slowly, breaks out into a smile. Explosives, colourful ones, bombard in his head. They then travel to his eyes. He sees fireworks. His confession is out- he has told somebody. Everything is free. He is free. 

The candle flickers brighter. 

“Thank you.” 

All other thoughts float out of Dream’s head, instead being occupied by rapidly multiplying fantasies of George. Sapnap knew. It wasn’t disgusting anymore.

Him and George holding hands, him and George under blankets, him and George rolling around in his orchard. Dainty dreams delicately sprung around his head, each morphing into another just as enchanting.

The claws of doubt unsuccessfully tried to fight their way back to the front of Dream’s mind. They failed miserably, overpowered by the optimism of Sapnap’s response.

“Dude, you need to call him,” Sapnap suggested minutes later, “it’s unfair of me to keep you whilst he worries.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Wish me luck.” The anxiety of the situation failed to appear.

“Good luck, Dream. He’ll be fine. I think. Just happy you’re okay.”

Dream laughs, “Hopefully. Bye.”

The phone-line connecting them is severed as the Floridian’s finger comes down upon the red End Call button. The air has cooled and slight rain drizzles down, racing each other down the glass of Dream’s bedroom window. 

Long fingers moving gracefully, Dream mindlessly taps in George’s contact. Breathing deeply, he taps the call button. 

The chorus stops after three rings. 

Dream, smile twinkling at the screen, is interrupted before he can say anything.

George's voice shakily transpires from the phone's speakers: "You Bastard."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, hit 10k words! That's pretty cool.  
> I'm so sick of quotation marks now lmao.  
> Anyway, this was fun to write. Angst Sapnap is the best.  
> And so soon until the four days are up!! 
> 
> Anyway, next chapter out either tomorrow or Thursday.  
> As always, kudos, shares and comments are appreciated (bookmarks too if you'd like to stay up to date)
> 
> Have a great day/evening/night <33


	8. Illusive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George finally breaks. Dream realises his mistakes and desperately tries to take them back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 8!!  
> Please do enjoy!! <33

George’s shaky voice transpires from the phone’s speakers: “You Bastard.”

The fierceness of his voice, heightened by the phone’s constant crackling, shunned Dream into the seventh circle of hell: Violence. It felt violent.

The voice on the other end of the line spread coldly through each vein and artery, leaving a dense trail of white and emotionless ice to hold its place. It rendered Dream inanimate, long legs rotted to the carpet, and face staring blankly at his phone. The violence in George’s voice drove him aghast. The pure happiness of Sapnap’s call had dispersed and, in its wake, left a blazing trail of words unsaid. Words to be said.

The last five days had loaded the ammo. Now it was up to George to cock it and pull it.

Dream had to say something. Anything, just something.

“George… I’m so, so sorry.”

It was pathetic but it had to do. George would understand. He always understood.

Dream stood quietly, waiting as the response was considered. The consideration came to no avail. It was shit. George thought it was shit.

Dream shifted downwards to rock on his knees.

“What the fuck,” the British accent harshly exaggerated each word, “is that? What is that supposed to mean?”

Silence.

“What do you mean… that you’re sorry? How the hell could you claim that you're sorry?” the anger boiled in his quickly rising voice, “How can you claim that you’re sorry when you left me hanging for five days? Five fucking days, Dream.”

His voice faltered. A loss for words.

“Five.”

The tone had swiftly changed. From vengeful and infuriated, it deflated; it became desolate and fraught. Just like George was. Just the way that he had been the past five days when Dream had left him. Dream had left him with no explanation. No reasoning. 

Lonely and lost he had wandered aimlessly through the days, unable to focus, unable to function. The man that set his days ablaze had disappeared, abandoning him just as the others. Dream was like the others. The time passed had solidified it. Dream was just like the others.

“George, listen to me,” the Floridan desperately followed up, blindly reaching for his best friend. His love. Their love. “I had to leave,” I can’t tell him why “and it was stupid. And tiring. And I was lonely.” the raw emotions of the past few days came gushing out, “But George - with all my entire being, I promise I could never hurt you!” he couldn’t “I’ve spent an eternity protecting you. I’ll always spend an eternity protecting you. You’re my eternity.”

Dream inhaled. It was the closest he could get to those dreaded three words.

"Hand on heart."

Please let it do.

“I don’t care.” The words came out coldly. Calculatingly. The knife had plunged into the Floridian’s stomach. 

“And you’re a liar.”

The knife had twisted. Scarlett cascaded out.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The cool breeze had morphed into a ferocious wind, accompanied by thunderous clouds fused together and quiet pitter-patters of forlorned rain. A battle waged outside.

Surely they’d survive it.

“George…” Dream’s voice was low and gravelly. The British man breathed in. “How am I a liar?”

A small, frustrated noise escaped the other. “You can’t just do that, Dream. Talk to me like that and make it all go away. It won’t go away!” he huffed, “You lied to me, that night. You know you did. You told me that we were connected. You said you were mine and I yours. And you lied. You lied to me.”

“What-” fighting to respond, Dream was cut off.

“No. Don’t try it. If you honestly saw me like that, wanted me like that, you wouldn’t mess with me. You would not leave me for days upon days, no contact and no connection. You would tell me you’re okay, let me know where you are. That’s at the very least. You know, maybe then I’d be able to think, never mind eat!”

He took a breath. “You’re cruel. You’re so cruel, Clay.”

The stars had dispersed, instead taking cover under the inky darkness of the night. The constellations disappeared.

He had said his name again.

The word that started it all. The person.

The cosy and comfortable setting of his name first spoken had gone. It was replaced by the hell that was this call. Suddenly it didn’t sound warm, like melted butter, but sounded piercing. Agonizingly painful, puncturing his soul over and over again.

It sounded the way George had been feeling.

In a quest to feel okay, Dream had made George feel unwanted. He had made him feel forsaken. Just the way that he had promised, many years ago, that he would not. Maybe he was cruel. Maybe George was right.

“You’re right. I’ve lost my head. In this struggle, I’ve lost it. Lost everything. God, George, I’m a fucking mess.”

“What?” the brunette sounded taken aback. “You’re… struggling?”

The concerned anxiety of the days prior advanced back to his voice.

“So much.” What does he say? “I never meant for anything like this to happen, George. You have to believe me.” Panic rose in a monumental storm, “Please believe me. You need to, George.”

Dream collapsed off his knees and onto the floor. Curling into a bundle, the first drop of a tear slid slowly down his cheek. He had accepted it; embraced it, even.

Patches slinked into the room and settled between her owner's chest and knees. Patches was the only thing stable.

“Of course I believe you, Clay.” Dream had realised George saved his name for only the most meaningful, emotional conversations. It was sweet. “But you need to tell me what you meant not to happen - in order for me to help.”

George’s voice had returned to the soft and fluffy pitch of normality. The reassuring cocoa was heard once more. The Floridan had missed it dearly.

He had chosen to speak earlier. But to die seemed safer than all other options. Dying was a given; nobody could reach immortality. Only words could, yet words were the most dangerous weapon of them all.

Especially when it came to love.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

How to tackle it. How for Dream to tackle it.

That was the question. Tackling George onto his bed would do it but, of course, he couldn’t.

“I can’t even explain it,” it was safe. And neutral. Easier. “but I couldn’t do anything. I felt paralysed, Georgie. Like I was at a battle with myself. There was danger, then safety. Fire, then water. Right, then wrong. I couldn’t escape it but it’s not like I wanted to. So, to numb it all, I just wrote. I stared at my ceiling and I wrote.”

It was the nearest to a confession that he could get.

George was bewildered but kept his tone homely: “Okay, that’s okay Dream. Can you tell me what you wrote?”

“Yeah. Just about the stress of YouTube and social media. My parents living so far away, same with you and Sapnap. It all just built up and it frazzled me. I could do nothing but think.”

The lies flew from his mouth so seamlessly that it was worrying. To lie was one thing, but to George? Each word took on a new betrayal - to himself and to his best friend.

“I’m so sorry, Dream.” His heart fluttered whenever George said his name with that velvet tone, “But still - why didn’t you reply?” The flutters ceased. “You must have had your phone on you.”

“Yes, but I turned it off. It didn’t matter.”

Words were dangerous.

“I didn’t need to message anybody.”

Words were weapons.

A short pause, then a deep breath: “Oh.”  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The silence of the beginning engulfed the call once more. Uncomfortable silence. Dream, in his little ball, squirmed, sending Patches strutting away with a look of disgust upon her features. The Floridian suppressed a snigger.

Moments later, George intervened: “Please do correct me if I’m wrong,” his voice remained scarily calm “but you didn’t reply to me,” Dream was preparing his response, “because you didn’t need to. Is that right?”

“No. Yes. Kind of. I can’t explain it.”

“Right. So you left me numb and unable to do anything,” the call became increasingly shriller “because you didn't see it fit? You found me not important enough? Right?”

The silence clawed at him.

“No. It wasn’t like that.” “Well it definitely sounds like it.”

Silence occurred for the dozenth time.

George, again, broke its fragility.

“Clay,” he began, voice unreadable “during those five days, my body was still. It lay only my bed. Above the sheets. Drugged and dazed and dead. I moved only my arms. My only movement was to rest my hands on my heart. Just as you told me to. Those weeks ago. Do you remember?” of course he remembered “And they stayed there until my arms became stiff. It kept me sane, knowing you shared that with me. Knowing that we shared something physical.” Dream, curled on his floor, was dumbfounded. “At night, I gazed at the moon. I knew you had a moon too. I knew that, from 2am each night, we both had the same moon. The same size, tangible for you as well as me. Another physical thing we shared.”

“It’s second best. Only to you.” George’s breath hitches. As does Dream’s.

“I wish I could feel you, Dream. Make sure you are real. That you’re not a dream.”

“I wish you were in my bed,” Dream quickly blurted out “that I could have as much of you as humanly possible.”

The sound of body thudding on bed came through his phone.

“I miss you so much and I haven’t even met you.”

“Me too.”

Dream’s hand settled onto his heart. The exact place it had been all the weeks ago. The place it had been only a few nights ago. Maybe his insecurities were foolish; maybe George did feel the same.

“George, I’m sorry.”

“Whatever for?” the flash of a sly smirk etched itself into Dream’s mind. He was going to have to sweat for it. He didn’t care.

He was going to make George sweat in a few days.

Dream chuckled.

“I’m sorry that I left you for a few days. I love you very much," if only you knew "and I’ll never hurt little baby Georgie like that ever again. Please do forgive me.”

George sat in mock thought for a second, contemplating Dream’s apology.

“Forgiven.” The airy light in his voice made Dream feel like he had ascended. It was all okay.

“Well then, Georgie.” His voice was low, “I should go. I have people to message.”

“Poor them.”

A wheeze escaped. “Shut up you idiot.”

George sniggered. “Fine. Bye, idiot.”

“Bye.”  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ending the call, Dream gradually sat up and his eyes settled on his desk. The leather backed diary that he had filled with his unspoken words suddenly seemed unimportant. He would see George in four days. He could talk to George in four days. The diary had no purpose anymore.

It had served him well.

Rising from his now-stiff legs, the blond walked over to the desk. Gently picking the book up, he flicked through its pages. Smiling sadly, Dream hugged the book to his sweaty shirt. Sitting down on his chair, the Floridian opened his desk drawer and placed the diary back into the left corner. Back to humble beginnings.

But now the clock was up. 

It was all illusive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are my favourite scenes to write.  
> Probably the last in depth DNF interaction before the meetup!!
> 
> We're so close to a thousand reads too like oh my God this is insane. Thank you so much for reading.  
> Anyway, as always, kudos, shares and comments are always appreciated (bookmarks too if you'd like to keep up to date)
> 
> Have an amazing day/evening/night <33


	9. Simulation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day prior to the meetup, Dream prepares his house and surrenders one last time to weakness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter nine wooo
> 
> Please do enjoy!! <3

The compressed, slimy walls of the crevasse enclosed around the body. Dark vines spurted from the mossy soil, multiplying each time they connected with the man’s flesh. He was strung, suspended, in mid-air, the darkened walls nearing increasingly close. He yelled as they wrapped around him. Writhing in an attempt of escape, the vines retracted with an organic screech and the man fell, crumpling into the grainy soil. It had no grip and he sunk on his back, deeper and deeper, until his face was covered. The walls had been hidden from his sight. Thank God. That part was over.

Waiting in an anxious stupor, the man fell through the gravelly soil and landed on a soft, royal-coloured ground. It was unfamiliar and rose every few steps. It was in no particular shape, but it was curved. The direction of it was unguessable. And it surrounded him completely.

But he had never made it this far.

Cautiously rising, the figure took a small step onto one of the mounds. Slipping immediately, the mound burst, releasing a loud howl, under his foot and freed a mass of purple gunk. It oozed in large from the giant opening. The magenta-coloured sludge torched through the bumpy bed of the soft rock, leaving black, scalding marks behind. Scrambling away from the goop, the man groped, alarmed, at his leg. An agonizing throb was cast from it.

Peeling the thin fabric from the site, and odour snaked up into the air. He screeched. Scarlett liquid fled in exoduses from his calf and dampened the surrounding floor, dyeing it an inky red. The ruined skin around the calf was twisted, resembling a hue similar to a Pot Douglah. It looked just as charred too, the reddened and irritated skin rapidly cooling to an enraged brown. The torn flesh offered an opening to the leg, where the bone sat, cruelly contorted, shattered and screaming. Blood vessels wailed in anger and muscles lay stripped and peeling from one another. The man’s vision fulminated into dizzy stars.

Ashes dusted the now red, spongy floor. Under the holes lay utter darkness. It seemed to go on for a continuum. If he were to fall into one, he would never emerge.

Quietly tying a tourniquet from trouser fabric and an abandoned stick, the man stood up. His surroundings span unsteadily round him, but his sight was still engaged. Making sure to avoid the small hills, he leaped from one area to another. The blood fell in careless streams. They painted a paled canvas with ever-changing strokes of different reds. It was oddly beautiful, he thought. It was terrifying, but beautiful.

The tunnel seemed incessant; it had no end in sight. The man had been limping for what seemed like a century. Time slowed in the tunnel. Time was non-existent in the crevasse. A mere simulation.

The bumps began to gurgle but the man paid it no mind, instead continuing his desperate venture to reach the end. To escape.

Stumbling and tripping over the uneven sponge, a shrill pitch ambushed his ears, and he froze, hands clamping over ears in a weak attempt of protection. After a few minutes of complete stillness, the man’s legs gave out and he crashed onto the floor, undone leg folding under the other with an ear-splitting crunch. A screech of pure agony erupted within the tunnel, springing from one cushioned wall to another, creating a harmony of unearthly choruses contested only by the angels above. The shrill noise was silenced, and it quivered in a corner, small and scared of the echoing choruses that opposed it.

Teeth clenched and leg pulled to chest, the man watched, astonished, as the tunnel transformed from the royal purple hue of before to a new coal black. Short gurgles flooded his ears and, shortly after, a thick, lukewarm substance overran his body.

An unfamiliar sensation filled the man’s heart and, for once, he felt at peace. Safe, and in tranquillity. As his skin gently melted away and his blood calmly drained along with it, he exhaled one last time. The black tunnel dwindled away and the deep emptiness of earlier embraced him. He had found a way to love it. After so long, he loved it.

He loved the nothingness.

-

Splayed on his bed, Dream awoke with a jolt.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Reaching for his clock, he realised it was 8am. The pillows behind him were soaked with cold sweat and his duvet lay crumpled at the edge of his bed. In his sleep, he had pulled his fitted sheets from his mattress and the corners were now tangled within his shaking fingers.

Removing his bed clothes, Dream marched them to his bathroom and shoved them into his shower. Stripping down, he shivered and stepped in with them. Hesitantly turning the knob, cold water drizzled down on him. It hurt but felt nice. Refreshing.

As it ran down his face, the Floridian combed his hair through with his hands. Promptly, the cold water heated up and turned to boiling. So much so that it was to the point of scalding. But it felt good. It offered a distraction from his mind and his sleep.

Allowing the hot streams to divert him, Dream felt around for a remote. One of the perks of a big house was inbuilt speakers. Grasping the small device, the speakers immediately linked to his Spotify and began playing a plethora of upbeat and sun-filled songs.

Limbs still stiff from the night prior, Dream started to stretch. The sheets underneath him were thoroughly wet so he swiftly put them into the nearby sink. His foot began to tap to the beat and his torso sway to the rhythm. Head testing a slight bop, his body began to move in sync. He tilted his head to feel the hot jets of water on is face and smiled. Feet shuffling and shoulders bouncing, the songs falling from the speakers overtook him. Slanted shuffles and cheery Charleston’s and small swings filled the enclosed shower up. As Dream’s laughter grew, so did his steps. One leg crossed over the other, a little twirl, a hop and slide – they reminded him of his childhood. Spinning with his older sister and teaching his younger sister. Throwing his little brother in the air. His mom watching them. Everybody holding their stomachs from laughing so much.

The feeling was incredulous.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Towel around his waist and sheets hung out to dry, Dream sat on his couch in thought. It had been three days since his phone calls with Sapnap and George. One day until his phone calls would be face to face. Until they were all face to face. Until him and George were face to face.

The last three days had sped past in a blur. All of them had, of course, been spent in a voice call with Sapnap and George. The ten-day plan was scrapped and instead upgraded to fourteen, courtesy of an hour of begging from Sapnap. Dream had jokingly acted as if he were annoyed and wanted the two of them out of his house as soon as possible but he was honestly elated. To see Sapnap would be one thing, but to see George would be another. Completely different. And to have them both, more so George, in his house for another four days was better than anything he could have asked for. He just did not know how he would restrain himself.

Sapnap had made it abundantly clear that he wanted to go to the local laser tag area, an idea which George agreed with at once. Aquariums, a zoo, and many restaurants were also added to the list of places to go. George, much to Dream’s surprise, had only requested one place: a local park. Obviously, the Floridian had immediately said yes but he had no idea why George wanted to visit. Vague memories of sending him blurry pictures of the park swirled back into Dream’s mind, but they were washed away as quickly as they flooded in. Sapnap changed the subject before he got a chance to inquire so, instead of the park, he discussed who would be taller – Sapnap or George. He hoped Sapnap.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It would have been 5am for George by the time Dream next checked his clock.

For the first time in a while, he hoovered. The dust embedded within carpets swirled upwards as soon as the warm air of the hoover hit it. They embarked on adventures through the air, forming weirdly engaging shapes and swirls as they floated through the room, only to be sucked back down and trapped in the plastic of the hoover. It was oddly satisfying to watch.

Next, he wiped down all the surfaces in his kitchen. They were covered with grime from many different cereals and dried milk. It was disgusting but Dream had grown uncensored to it. Watching the marble appear from under the dirt was pleasant and it reminded Dream why he did clean. Why he should still clean.

After the marble surfaces began to glimmer, the blond reorganised his cupboards. Weeks ago, he had bought coloured card for his sister, but she never came round to pick it up. Maybe, after all, it would come in use. Carefully cutting little triangles, Dream stuck little blue flags on his cupboards so George would be to remember where everything was. Blue was his favourite colour, and it was so much better than yellow.

Afterwards, Dream went up to the guest bedrooms. He had bought Eiffel Tower sheets especially for Sapnap; he wanted to make him feel at home. And embarrassed. Both were desirable. When encasing the pillows within the fabric, the magnitude of what was going to happen slammed into Dream. It had been years upon years since Dream met George on MunchyMC. It had been even longer since he met Sapnap. Eleven and twelve when he and Sap found each other. He had never expected him to be his best friend, nine years later. Nor had he expected to fall so deeply for George, five years later. Everything seemed to have fallen into its clean-cut, perfectly positioned place. It had all worked out. They were going to see each other. The Dream Team reunited.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After ending an hour-long call with him mom, Dream left his kitchen. She had called to ask about how he was feeling - the catalyst to a half an hour’s ramblings about his giddiness for tomorrow. His mom sounded overjoyed for him but grew increasingly weary of the energy transmitted through the phone. After an hour, Dream had decided to let her go about her day and ended the call, claiming to call her as soon as his best friends had settled in. He had no interest in doing so.

By the time the hour hand had reached two, Dream felt the day was tedious. He had cleaned the house, done the guest rooms, and written a calendar of what they were to do. He so desperately wanted to call George, hear his morning voice, talk to him and hear his oblivious rambles on complete nonsense but he forced himself to keep composure. It was needed practice for the two weeks ahead.

The hours of boredom drew him to his PC, vacuously playing on random Minecraft tester servers. Dream found himself staring at his drawer. It had been three days since he touched the diary.

One last look wouldn’t be a catastrophe. He smirked.

Reaching to the corner of the drawer, his warm hand met the cold, leather-clad book. He still received that sensation he first got in the shop. Even with every last emotion he had felt in the past month written openly on its soft, yellowed pages.

Gently scanning each page, a surge of emotion accosted Dream. It reminded him of his best friend’s magnificence. How majestic he was. From the detailed descriptions of his eyes formed through many facetime calls and streams to the pages filled with pines for his love, it all felt tremendously unreal. Like it was a simulation.

Could it be a simulation?

Approaching the end of his scribblings, Dream inhaled. Sceptically, he picked up his ink-filled stylus. One last update would not cause anything. It would be of no strife.

For what was the last time, Dream scribbled. He told the book about the call three nights ago, and about the plans, and the park, and about of the insatiable excitement Dream felt for tomorrow. And the slight dread which lay hidden underneath the elation.

An hour later, he had finished. Hands stained by ink, he wiped his brow and transferred a portion to his face. Only the back page was left unscathed by the silky-smooth ink.

Dream let out a slow and tense sigh. Finally, he felt whole. It was all out. Finally he could lay the book to rest having said everything he needed to.

Serenely placing the book back into the draw, Dream knew he would take it out again. Never to write in and only to read. The book had finished, at last.

Gently shutting the drawer, Dream released a light giggle.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Exhausted from the billows of emotion, the Floridian feel into a dreamless sleep for a few hours. Nothing had manifested within it. He felt most at peace than he had in days.

A battalion of constant pings exploded from his PC, coolly waking him up. Stretching, Dream walked to the computer to see what all the commotion was about:

It was Sapnap. Obviously.

Within minutes, he had joined the Discord channel, expertly dodging updates and reboots, and spent the entirety of the night staring at his monitor whilst Sap and George argued, one shouting and the other whining.

In twenty-four hours, he would hear the bickering in person.

At ten, all three exited the call. Dream, exhausted from the physical exertions of cleaning and writing, flopped heavily onto his bed. Cuddling into his pillows with Patches’ head on his feet, he passed out almost instantly.

He slept dreamlessly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I get to write for the meetup next chapter. God, I'm exciteddd  
> This chapter is a bit long for my writing but I hope you liked it. If anybody prefers longer chapters over my normal ones I can start opting for longer more often. 
> 
> Thank you so much for fifty kudos! We're also like fifty or so from 1000 hits too. It's just incredible! Thank you all so much it honestly means everything to me.  
> Next chapter either tomorrow, the weekend or monday (little bit busy at the moment lmao)
> 
> As always, kudos, shares and comments are forever appreciated (bookmarks too if you'd like to stay up to date)
> 
> Have a great day/evening/night!! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't republish to other websites. I will in the future so there is no need.  
> I hope you enjoyed!  
> 


End file.
